I set the rag down carefully.
The Archive expanded the text.
[Candidate: Arin Valen.]
[Track: Ambassador Studies & Delegation.]
[Interview Date: 12 days from today.]
[Location: Parliament Annex – Central Conclave Hall, Delhi]
[Panel Composition:
1.)Institute Senior Instructor (Ambassador Studies)
2.)Guild Representative (Rotational),
3.)External Observer (Rotational).]
[Dress Code: Formal, modest.]
Twelve days.
Not enough to become someone else.
Enough, maybe, to become a sharper version of myself.
I took a breath, let the Frame catch it.
Rao sir appeared at the end of the hall like a librarian-shaped coincidence.
"You have that look," he said. "Scheduling?"
I nodded and relayed the essentials.
"Twelve days," he repeated. "Hm. They are in a hurry this year. Probably budget cycles."
"That's what you're concerned about?" I asked.
"I am concerned about many things," he said. "But I can only do something about some of them. Come."
He led me to his office and gestured to the chair opposite his desk.
"Sit," he said. "How you sit in here is how you will sit in there."
I sat, at once hyper-aware of my spine, shoulders, and where my hands were supposed to go.
"Stop perching like a frightened bird," he said. "You are not on trial, Yet."
"I feel like it," I said.
"Good," he replied. "A little fear keeps arrogance in check. Now. We have twelve days. You will still clean, because routine anchors the mind. You will still read. But we add one more paper to your schedule."
"Which paper?" I asked.
"Paper Zero," he said. "Being Arin Valen without apologizing for it."
Interview prep was nothing like exam prep.
You cannot make mind-maps of yourself. Or rather, you can, but it looks suspiciously like narcissism.
Still, old habits die hard.
I opened a fresh notebook—courtesy of the library's mysterious surplus spirits—and wrote at the top:
INTERVIEW – AMBASSADOR STUDIES
Who am I?
What do I know?
Why me?
"These are ridiculous questions," I told the Archive.
[They are the ones they will ask, in different words,] it replied. [Better you embarrass yourself here than in front of the panel.]
So I tried.
Who am I?
– Thirteen.
– Human.
– Weak lungs, improving.
– Former UPSC aspirant from another life.
– Current library volunteer.
– Applicant for Ambassador Studies.
It felt both too much and not enough.
What do I know?
– Fog and Energy graphs basics, phenomenology, Institute structure.
– Foreign civilization structures from compendium + extra texts.
– Geopolitics
– Negotiation case studies.
– How to clean tables efficiently.
-- How to survive a sarcastic rectangle
"Maybe skip the tables in the interview," I muttered.
[Do not underestimate the diplomatic value of cleaning up other people's messes,] the Archive said. [Bureaucracies are built on that skill.]
Why me?
That question sat there, heavy, not interested in bullet points.
I left it blank for the moment.
Instead, I moved to practical drills.
In the evenings, after the library closed, I sat at our lone table at home, back straight, feet flat, and practiced saying my own name like it belonged to someone who deserved a chair.
"Good morning, respected panel," I said to the cracked plaster wall. "My name is Arin Valen."
Ma watched from the stove, eyebrows raised.
"You're talking to the ceiling now," she observed.
"I'm rehearsing," I said.
"For what?"
"For talking to people who are not the ceiling."
She snorted.
"Don't say 'respected panel,'" she said. "Say 'sir' and 'madam' like a normal person."
"What if they identify differently?" I asked.
She threw a spoon at me.
At the library, Rao added his own refinements.
"Again," he said for the fifth time that afternoon, as I sat in his office chair, palms resting on my thighs.
"Good morning," I said. "My name is Arin Valen. I'm from Vasantpur. I'm applying for Ambassador Studies because—"
"Stop," he said. "You are talking to the floor. The panel's faces are not near your shoes."
"I don't want to accidentally stare at their eyes and forget my name," I said.
"Then practice looking between their eyebrows," he said. "It gives the illusion of eye-contact without your brain panicking."
"That's a trick," I said, intrigued.
"Everything in diplomacy is a trick," he said. "Again."
I tried.
"Good morning," I said, focusing on an imaginary point just above his nose. "My name is Arin Valen. I'm from Vasantpur. I'm applying for Ambassador Studies because I believe my strengths lie in understanding perspectives, not in fighting on frontlines."
"Better," he said. "Still too rehearsed.You must know your first three sentences well enough to improvise them."
Content prep was easier. It was familiar territory.
Rao assigned me "homework."
"Every day until the interview," he said, "you will brief me on one current issue. Three minutes. No notes. I will interrupt."
"Of course you will," I muttered.
Issues piled up quickly.
Day one: A fluctuation in the energy graphs near the Northern Approach that had forced three guilds into temporary cooperation.
Day two: A minor trade dispute between two foreign polities over resource extraction rights.
Day three: A controversy about whether the Institute should allocate more seats to non-blessed candidates.
I stood in front of his desk, hands clasped behind my back like a very short, underfed diplomat, and delivered summaries.
"The Northern Approach fluctuation has highlighted both the strengths and weaknesses of current inter-guild protocols," I said one afternoon. "On one hand, rapid cooperation prevented civilian casualties. On the other, the underlying rivalry for —"
"What would you recommend if you were in that meeting?" Rao cut in.
"I'm not in that—"
"Imagine," he said. "You are. Go on."
I hesitated, then answered.
I tried again.
"The crisis showed we can work together," I said. "If we turn that into a rule now, we won't have to gamble on it next time. And if everyone knows they'll get a fair share, they'll be less tempted to sabotage each other."
"Better," he said. "Remember: you are not there to show them how much you know. You are there to show them that giving you more information would be a good investment."
Etiquette was trickier.
There were no official manuals for "How Not to Insult a Foreign Delegation in 30 Seconds," but the Ambassador Studies section in the compendium had a few pages on posture, greeting, and introductions.
I read them carefully.
"No sudden gestures," I murmured. "No pointing. No crossing legs toward elders. Keep voice level. Don't interrupt. Acknowledge questions before answering. Do not attempt jokes unless you are absolutely sure they will land."
At home, Ma watched me practice sitting and standing like I wasn't about to fall over.
"You're walking straight," she remarked one evening as I paced the length of the room, practicing the distance from door to chair.
"I have a spine now," I said.
"You always had a spine," she said.
She grew quiet, then added, "Don't let them make you feel small. Even if they're big people."
"I am small," I said. "Height wise, Lung wise."
"You know what I mean," she snapped. "You've met enough 'big people' in this life and the last. They sit on chairs and breathe air like everyone else."
"Some of them breathe better," I said.
She pointed a spoon at me.
"You are not doing this inside my house," she warned
Twelve days shrank quickly.
On Eleventh day's evening, I was standing on the railway platform, my hands on the adjacent arms rubbing to give me warmth in the chilled evening of November.
Ma stood beside me, then I heard footsteps which stopped just beside me.
"Valen," Rao said.
"Sir."
He handed me a printed sheet. The Academy's emblem glared from the top.
INTERVIEW ALLOTMENT – AMBASSADOR STUDIES
CANDIDATE: ARIN VALEN
DATE: 30th November, 2031
TIME: 09:40 A.M – 10:10 A.M
PANEL:
– Senior Instructor: Diksha Sen (Institut d'Études Intermondiales)
– Guild Representative: Mikhail Orlov Volkonskaya (Zarya Consortium)
– External Observer: Kenzo Hayato (Japanese Ambassador)